


Seaside Rendezvous

by Sidders



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-10
Updated: 2019-07-10
Packaged: 2020-06-26 00:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19756849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sidders/pseuds/Sidders
Summary: Photos of sea turtles and fish, tangled in plastic, haven’t escaped even her attention, nor had the public outcry, and she finds Pollution staring bitterly at one of those stainless steel straws that people on the internet tell you to spend thirty dollars on.





	Seaside Rendezvous

**Author's Note:**

> This is the first thing I've written in over two years, oh my god, thank you Good Omens.

They aren’t gone for long.

They’re not as inevitable as Death, not as unavoidable, but the state of the world as it is leaves plenty of room for the rest of them, at least for now.

War stays with Famine for a while. He’s peddling diet pills across America, trying to find some semblance of normality in their not-so-post-apocalyptic post-apocalyptic world, but she gets bored quickly; a few of his customers start fighting amongst themselves, and by the time Famine asks her to leave with a quirked eyebrow and exasperated sigh, most of his chosen shopping mall is in ruins.

She isn’t surprised that Pollution is relatively nearby. Photos of sea turtles and fish, tangled in plastic, haven’t escaped even her attention, nor had the public outcry, and she finds Pollution staring bitterly at one of those stainless steel straws that people on the internet tell you to spend thirty dollars on.

“Do people honestly think this will change the world?” War asks, taking the package from their hand and noting that the straws are, quite hilariously, wrapped in plastic.

“It’s a start,” Pollution frowns, so War removes the straws from their packaging and hands the plastic to them. 

“Would it cheer you up to know that, just last week, I saw a woman stab a man with one of these right in the arm because he was littering?”

Pollution thinks for a moment, and then there’s a hint of a smile. “Maybe a little.”

“There we go. Now, come,” she presses a kiss to Pollution’s cheek and her lips come away a little sticky. “I passed a wonderful beach on my way here that you have to see.” 

The beach in question is full of families with children throwing sweet wrappers in all directions, groups of teenagers treading cigarette butts into the sand and seagulls stealing fast food from visitors, dropping pieces of greasy food as they fly away. 

“You see?” She puts an arm around oil-stained shoulders. “Nothing has really changed.” 

“Maybe you’re right,” Pollution says, and they’ve brightened up considerably.

“I am. Humans,” War begins, “never step back to look at the bigger picture. Why look into better recycling when you can focus on eco-friendly straws and shouting at corporations online for endorsing single-use plastic?”

“Your doing, I’d imagine,” Pollution nudges her side. War laughs.

“Only a little. People are so quick to anger these days, it’s incredible. I hardly have to lift a finger.”

They lie on the sand for a while, Pollution’s head in War’s lap (if she minds the stains left behind on her jeans, she says nothing). After a while some teenage boys catch War’s eye, and after nothing more than a smirk from her they’re throwing punches.

“You can’t help yourself, can you?” Pollution asks, but there is nothing but fondness in their voice. Others have joined now, perhaps originally intending to split the boys up, but now there is a beach-wide fight happening in front of them, and they watch it the way humans watch a sunset.

“It’s not my fault that they enjoy my attention.”

Before long people have moved further along the beach, away from them, their belongings soon to be swept into the sea and their blood staining the sand.

“That takes me back,” War says as they walk. She bends to touch the ground, rubs some of the wet, crimson grains between her middle finger and her thumb.

“Greece?” Pollution asks, and War lifts an eyebrow in question, because that was long before their time. “You’re always talking about Sparta, it was one of your favourites.”

War grins at that, and cups their jaw with her hand, leaving a red smear across their cheek.

“Aren’t you sweet.”


End file.
